War Hammer
by Foxbear
Summary: Assigned to investigate reports of human trafficking Staff Sergeant Beverly Rosin finds himself captured by Salvers. His only way off their ship is to join a mysterious tournament on Station S-6-S. The contest is shrouded in mystery and impossibly dangerous. But then again, so is Beverly. Written for the OC contest sponsored by /u/4544649/ Rapidfyrez


All Who Wander

A Transformers Movie-verse Fanfiction

For

"Beverly!"

The growling hiss that greeted him spoke of that particular brand of exasperation and resignation that the Marine was beginning to recognize as a universal constant with mothers. Staff Sergeant Beverly Rosin gave a grunt of pain as the massive, gnarled hands that held him tossed the human back into the cubical metal cell and dropped the grate across the top. The burly man cheerfully tossed a Hawaiian good luck sign after the retreating figure, earning another hiss of displeasure from his cellmate when she saw the bloody condition of his digits.

"Really Hunter Beverly," the golden female growled as she stalked closer, "such a tasty species as yourself must be more careful who, or what, he antagonizes." Her saurian head dipped and a long purple tongue flicked out to caress his fingers. "There are worse fates than this after all."

The Marine gave another rough laugh as her glimmering talons ran through his jet black hair and his dark eyes, made even blacker than usual in the dim light, rose to meet her golden slits of pupils.

"Honored Mother, it is required," he spoke with respect in his tone but a wide grin on his face.

The raptor with the dappled golden hide hissed in displeasure and tapped his teeth with one talon reprovingly.

"Prey species," she emphasized the words, "should not cause such trouble," she paused and narrowed her eyes at him_, Denali she was beautiful, _he thought idly. "Unless they _want_ to be eaten."

Beverly gave another laugh and staggered too his feet. He easily towered over the saurian alien who shared his confinement, topping out at six-three. He scooped her up in his powerful arms and carried her to the one raised area that served as his bed. Mother hissed in half hearted disapproval as she nuzzled into his thick beard, letting the sensitive bristles on her muzzle brush over the old scar tissue the peaked above the bushy black mass before lowering her head.

"Scoop is better," she murmured into his broad chest.

"I have better reaction time off of a raised platform," Bev countered as he eased himself down onto the bed, leaning his back against the wall with a wince.

There was silence in the cell for a moment as the human arranged himself to rest most easily on his various cuts, burns, and fractured bones. That done, he unbuttoned his camouflage top and painfully pulled up his tee-shirt. Mother gave a happy sigh and with feather lightness that belied her muscular frame, settled her swollen belly on the warmth of his discolored abdomen.

"Besides," Bev murmured as he tucked his top around her to conserve the warmth he shared generated against the cold cell, "I make a pretty good scoop, if I do say so myself."

Mother trilled and gave a sigh as her eyes drifted closed.

"What do you hope to gain?" She pressed. "What will become of us if you do escape?"

The Marine gave a grin as his fingers rubbed over the egg shaped mounds now showing clearly through her sides. His i'nogo tied clicked softly as the tiny weapons that adorned it rustled around his wrist.

"I'm not going anywhere. This is a spaceship, remember?"

"Then why?"

"USMC code of contact Mother. I gotta give em'…" the rest of his sentence was swallowed in a yawn as the past twenty-four hours of running and sabotage caught up with the thirty-eight year old. "Getten too old for this…" he muttered.

"Sleep," the raptor ordered sharply, and Beverly was only too glad to obey.

An agonized shriek brought the soldier to his feet instantly and a blade appeared in his hands. Before he had even processed what was happening Bev had flung himself at the two story tall form that was leaning in to hold Mother down in the far corner of the cell. The golden form was fighting wildly in the grip of one of the smaller and scrawnier Slavers, his brown skin was mottled with age and he was perhaps two-thirds of the size of the rest of the crew. Still, the razor sharp, hardened carbon blade caught on the thick folds of skin, barely drawing any blood even as the human attacked the weaker joints.

The assult had the desired effect though. The medic, _vet?_, dropped the raptor and cursed, shaking the scratched wrist. Beverly dropped and rolled to stand over the twitching form on the floor. He could see silvery grey blood out of the corner of his eye but did not take his focus off of the threat. The old one glared at them through crooked, spiky teeth the stalked off. The Marine noted the syringe he held in his hands before putting his knife back in its place and spinning to his cellmate.

A rough cry of horror escaped the hardened soldier as he took in the damage. The leathery golden skin of Mother's abdomen had been ripped open as had the uterus beneath it. He could see the crushed form of at least one egg and its contents within. He tried not to think of why she would have done that to herself. No slaver would have damaged the valuable merchandise. His body moved even as his stomach churned, training taking over. Stop the bleeding, apply pressure, but as his hands started to tend to the female her talons came up and gripped him fiercely.

"Remove!" she hissed. "Poison!"

"I can't remove my hands! I have to help you Mother!" he insisted.

"Yes! Help! Remove them! I am poisoned!"

The reality of the situation hit the man and he retrieved his knife, cursing the delay his obtuseness had caused. He cleared the last strands of membrane and tenderly, almost reverently removed the shattered remains of the first egg from the pulsing womb. Then came another. Three more eggs came out broken, their occupants still and dead. The fifth struggled weakly, its bones visible through the translucent, unformed skin, but otherwise a perfect replica of Mother. One egg alone was still intact and Beverly held it up for the saurian to examine. A satisfied hiss escaped Mother as her tongue gave the golden orb one first, and last caress. Her slit eyes focused sharply on the human as she pressed the egg towards him.

"Take!" she ordered. "Keep!"

The Marine wanted to protest, to say something to the effect that she would live to keep it herself but again his training held and he only grunted and nodded as he slipped it into his shirt and started to work frantically trying to stem the blood flow from the ragged wound. He noted a sudden change in the scent of the fluid but dismissed it when he staggered and slipped on the growing puddle beneath his knees. Bev bit his tongue as a string of curses boiled up and tears threatened to spill out. His hands finally stilled as he felt the heart stop beating beneath them. Fire burned through his blood but stronger, older instincts held the rage in check for now.

Already he could hear the cleaning drone hovering behind him. It had some rudimentary learning capability. It knew not to get close to him now. The Marine flexed his gore covered hands and turned to glare as the machine. The plain hovering box trembled and shrank back. Bev stalked forward menacingly and held out his hands. A faint green light played up and down his arms but stopped at his elbows when he growled. The silvery blood turned to dust and smoke that was collected by the drone. Likewise his legs were cleaned. It took every ounce of self control he possessed to not intervene when the machine opened and clumsily pulled Mother's torn body into the storage compartment. Revenge, even petty revenge would have felt wonderful now but he has other priorities now. The man's snarling followed the trembling drone away down the corridor.

When it was gone he slumped back on the rock hard bed and strangled the anger down. He didn't know what had happened. Those had been Mother's claw tracks across her abdomen. That he could tell. She was valuable, as were her eggs. That is why she was down her with him in the high security vault instead of the transparent cells that lined the high walls of the Slavers' hold. The medic wouldn't have done that to her deliberately. But why would she have? Poison? His mind flashed back to the syringe, the empty syringe the medic had held. It made no sense.

A fluttering, soft as a mouse's breath, stirred near his heart. Beverly forced the dark thoughts away and focused on the small life next to his skin. Mother had been there for him from his first day on this ship. When he had escaped from the towering aliens who had purchased him she had protected him. Of the shipment of original humans he was the only one left. Why she had her really didn't know, but a Clansman paid his debts. Official orders be hanged, his new priority was keeping her last child safe.

As the long lonely hours turned to days the Marine stayed in his cell, eating and exercising as well as he could to build up his strength. The Slavers did like their wares to be healthy and kept even the troublesome ones well fed. He spoke softly to the little one who had survived, trying to keep anger and frustration out of his voice. He told it of Mother, of the blue world he had left behind, and of the love he already had for her child.

"What am I going to tell you once you start asking questions though?" he asked one time as he lay staring up through the grate at the towering rows of energy cages. "What of your father? Heck," he frowned thoughtfully as he stroked the egg, "I don't even know if your kind _have _fathers. For all I know Mother just decided to go all 98' Godzilla and make some babies…"

The shell hidden in his shirt slowly hardened and finally cracked. The wet, awkward form that tumbled out and dried itself against his skin was a dull, dusky gold. Her eyes stared up at him, and for the first time in his life Beverly Rosin, Staff Sergeant US Marine Core, fell instantly, hopelessly in love. The Slavers came that day to move the valuable little piece of merchandise to a more appropriate holding cell with the other young born on the journey. One died from a rifle shot to the brain. One required a new leg when his primary joint was shattered by a war club fully half the size of the human. When they retreated from the cell Beverly collapsed back against the breathing hard and weakly trying to comfort the trembling child hiding under his shirt.

He weakly held his arm up and stared at it in bemusement. A lattice of burning red lines showed where the power blocks had broken when he had fought off the first wave of Slavers; the invisible barriers that had allowed him to belong to the human race without question. A fierce grin split his face and he experimentally flexed his ability. The flickers of power he had been using to move about the ship and cause trouble for his captors were but a shadow of the power his sire's blood gave him. Carefully he rustled his i'nogo tied and felt the ripples in the space around him. They were fewer here in the void, much fewer, and he found himself forcing the weapons, one at a time through rifts so small he would never have considered using them back on Earth.

War club, spear, bow, rifle, and rope; the items were as familiar as his own body; summoning them as natural as breathing even with the difficulty of the smooth void space around him. Still his hands trembled as his free fingers stroked the now sleeping infant. It would not be enough. All they had to do was flood the cell with gas and he, and the little one, would be at the mercy of the Slavers. He could force his way into a larger crack and hide in between, but the harsh lights would give him away and he was not sure the little one could survive the journey. The Marine pulled the war club through one more time, letting it grow to nearly full size, needing to feel the comforting weight of the weapon one more time.

When they came for her he would fight, but the curling flicker of despair in his heart threatened to break it. He would almost certainly fail. The man's lips moved softly as he whispered a prayer. He would do pretty much anything to keep his friend's child safe.

The grating wrench of the lid being lifted off of the cage had him crouching in trepidation, the war club ready. But to his surprise to Slavers stayed well out of range as a mobile communication consol floated down to hover in front of his face.

English.

Beverly blinked in shock.

The screen was in English. A bright greed button glowed out of a black screen at him with "push to start" in an old Courier type font. Shrugging his shoulders the Marine let the war hammer slide back into the wrinkle that held it and tapped the screen. New letters appeared with a faint clicking sound as if some invisible hand was actively typing this out on an old Commodore.

Do you want to save her?

The man frowned, glaring suspiciously at the yes and no buttons. This was far too coincidental. The timing was too perfect, but he could not see how the Slavers could benefit from such a ruse. He hit yes.

Do you want to save yourself?

Yes.

You are offered a position in the upcoming Station S-6-S Tournament. Participate and your price, and the female Dryden hatchling's price will be paid in full. There will be further rewards upon victory in the competition. Do you agree to the terms?

Beverly glared at the terminal. Every single instinct he had was screaming that there was greater danger in this offer than in the Slavers' clutches. But the small one next to his heart stirred and chirped and he closed a hand over her protectively. He could see no way to protect her here on this vessle.

"Will our freedom be assured when we win?" he asked of the empty air.

The device flickered a moment.

Her freedom can be assured.

The Marine arched an eyebrow at the half-answer but his hand came up.

Yes.

The Slavers were nothing if not consummate professionals. Beverly, the little one he protected, and all the rest; they were merchandise. When they were bought and paid for and treated accordingly. The two were loaded up into a small ship, clearly not of Slaver or Cybertronian design, with plenty of food and water. In no time at all it detached from the hull of the main vessel. It was only after the jolt that he assumed was the faster than light drive kicked in that Beverly's unerring mechanical sense figured out that the pod had no engine. Some outside force was pulling him helplessly towards battle.

The man held the hatchling close and whispered in her small ear. "I will call you Hope."

She chirped as if in agreement and fell back asleep. Seeing the wisdom of this Beverly slumped in the crash chair and drifted off himself. It felt like only moments later that he was woken with a start as the ship shuddered to a halt and clamped onto something. He looked out the view screen but saw only an expanse of dull grey metal. The Marine stood to his feet and felt a shiver chase down his spine.

He had been right. The cold life force he felt out in the station was far more dangerous than the Slavers. It was not all bad news here though. He shifted his awareness and sensed far more ripples and even rifts in the surrounding space. Bev experimentally flexed each of his weapons in and out of their wrinkles. They sprang easily to hand and slid back in. He felt the attention of the cold presence shift away from him and cautiously reached out with his own senses. Briefly his awareness touched an old presence. This one was warm and would have been even welcoming were it not for the aching grief and terrible pain it exuded. The Marine shivered and let his awareness center again. Neither the frightening nor the frightened presence seemed aware of his sixth and eighth senses. That was one count in his favor.

"Not quite like back home eh kid?" He addressed his passenger as he exchanged the crude sling he had made for her with the far more comfortable one the Slavers had helpfully provided once they had been paid for.

It was true. Though the rifts in the fabric of space were more numerous here they felt somehow unnatural. Where the many fissures of Sol system followed the same rolling patterns of forests and sand dunes, here the rifts cut through reality like train tracks. As if some force had laid them for a set purpose. Beverly remembered the engineless ship and stored that away for further though. It was time to get ready.

The tall Marine had a backpack full of food and water, his grey camouflage uniform bristled with his favorite selection of knives and small hand tools, and the only reason he hadn't just decided to brazen it out on the Slaver vessel nuzzled contented into his chest. He took a deep breath and sent a prayer up to a deity he hadn't really spoken to in years.

_Keep her safe_.

With that he strode out onto the deck of Station S-6-S.

#

Dark corridors, built for creatures larger than him, and drastically restructured more than once afterwards, stretched away from the docking port his ship had attached to. There was no sectioned airlock to speak of and the room itself was barely larger than the vessel he had arrived in. If he had to guess he would say that it was a loading dock only. A maze like array of the imposing corridors confronted him and the Marine growled in irritation.

Beverly risked stretching his senses, looking down each choice with his full range of senses. A few flickers caught his awareness, dangerous things. Things too close to the ship. He headed straight for the closest one. He found it tucked into a corner; a bulbous pulsing creature the size of a breadbox. It looked like something between a spider and an octopus. After studying him curiously for a moment it gave a shriek and launched itself at the human with a hungry glint in its eyes.

Beverly walked down the corridor back to his ship calmly cleaning the greasy orange gore off his knife. He had tossed the creature and its nest several hundred yards down the hallway and felt the others retreat to a similar distance. His territory was now marked he concluded grimly. The thing had been one of the lesser dangers he had sensed too.

Hope gave a disgruntled croon and he stopped to feed her before finally deciding on the most traveled corridor. He couldn't sense any particular threat down it and it looked well traveled. That decided he set off once more. This time he passed an archway and a burning red laser grid snapped up behind him. The Marine gave a fierce grin and screamed out into the dim light.

"HOOAH!"

The corridors echoed with the challenge and a hundred tiny things skittered away from him. The cold awareness was focused on him at the moment and he rotated until he saw what he thought was the camera. The human spread his arms out and glared at the lens.

"Here I am. Show me my first fight!"


End file.
